


Not Any In The World But You

by bloodfever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Meet-Cute, One-Sided Enjolras/Grantaire, Pining Combeferre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodfever/pseuds/bloodfever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre spends more time at weddings than any single human being should.  Grantaire, incidentally, gets invited to his share too.</p>
<p>For the prompt:  "Wed Me".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Any In The World But You

Combeferre spends more time at weddings than any single human being should.  Well, anyone not actually being paid to work the proceedings in some form or other should, anyway.  He just…has a lot of family, and a number of friendly acquaintances in several areas of his life which aren’t actually connected and once he turned a certain age, everyone he knew was getting married.

Or it seemed like that anyway.

Thankfully, for the most part, Combeferre liked weddings.  He might have liked more time in the lab or with his books in lieu of another suit, another ceremony, another stilted conversation with the Bride’s great aunt or the Groom’s best friend from high school, and various combinations and permutations thereof.  When invitations arrived he sighed, stuck them to his fridge, and reconciled himself to a life where every Saturday for as long as could be foreseen would be taken up by yet another happy occasion.

It was at one of these weddings he met Grantaire.  Grantaire who had entertained him by making snide comments under his breath during the speeches, and even more by being sharply insightful about both classical literature and modern astronomy.  They had talked, and gone through far more than their share of the champagne, and it was over before it had even began.

Several weddings later Grantaire was seated at Combeferre’s table, mutual friends giving them both a hint they were perhaps aware of but unwilling to comment on.  Grantaire was much darker, clouds drifting above his head and his jibes were not the gentle puns of their previous conversation, instead they bordered on cruel.  Perhaps it was the wine that loosened his tongue, or the tension had just snapped, but Combeferre learned all about the Angel, the torturous presence in Grantaire’s dreams, and with quite a rude start had realised that Grantaire was talking about  _Enjolras_.  Enjolras, Combeferre’s dear and old friend, who had been Combeferre’s companion at a number of similar weddings.  Which should have been the end of it, but something inside Combeferre just wouldn’t let go.

It was at a wedding where they danced for the first time.  Both in jest, with big self-deprecating motion designed to make the other laugh, and far too seriously, Grantaire’s head resting against Combeferre’s shoulder as some soft jazzy classic drifted over their heads.

It was at a wedding where Combeferre drunkenly confessed to Grantaire that he was in love. Grantaire, blissfully, did not quite catch the significance of Combeferre’s expression.

It was at a wedding, sitting outside the hall on a bench under some early blooming but fragrant Jasmine, where Combeferre turned to Grantaire and stopped him mid-rant about The Angel.  Unable to hold himself back any longer, had tearfully asked if he may, and on receipt of a somewhat confused nod from Grantaire, Combeferre had kissed him.  “I’ve been right here.”  Combeferre said, standing and walking away without looking back.

It was  _also_  at a wedding where Grantaire had dragged a very reluctant Combeferre into the kitchen (to the consternation of everyone, but who in their right mind has their wedding reception  _on a boat_?) and told him, over the clatter of crockery and the controlled chaos of pastry chefs plating the dessert course, that Grantaire would like to try again.

They didn’t do anything so cliché as literally reintroducing themselves, or making a big show stopping romantic scene to the raucous applause of all in attendance.  Instead, they went back to their tables and enjoyed their evening, sending little smiles in each other’s direction but nothing more.

They built on that in their real lives, away from the 100 shades of white satin and the gentle gold of cheap champagne.  Instead they had bright sunshine yellow puns, and midnight black as they gazed at stars, monarch blue dates in the park, deep green lush discussions about art, breathless red as they take each other apart, warm orange of the afterglow.

Weddings continued to be a problem, but the influx of invitations now bear both their names.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Tempest. Sort of.
> 
> Come say hi at [prometheusatthebarricade](http://prometheusatthebarricade.tumblr.com) :D.


End file.
